Days of Young
by Reva Arian
Summary: Before he was a hero, he was a man. Before he was a man, he was rebellious. Before he was rebellious, he was a child. A child who was made wise beyond his years due to a mystery that began to unfold before memory.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone. I neither own or am affiliated with anything having to do with The Mummy, The Mummy Returns, Universal Studios, or any of the characters therein.  
  
  
  
  
  
The metal of the gun was cold and it made a clicking sound everytime he moved it in his hands. It was heavy but still light enough for him to lift in the air and aim at one of the many mounted animal heads on the opposite wall, across the room. He didn't know why, but it felt right. Everything seemed familar to him, as if the gun was supposed to mold to his hand exactly. He let his eyes wander and moved the aim of the gun onto a vase sitting on a table in the left corner, then to a clay statuette of an African tribal warrior on the bookshelf. He finally rested his gaze on a mirror on the side wall. He concentrated on his reflection, one eye closed while his unruly, sandy colored hair fell over his forehead.  
  
  
  
"Bang." He whispered. He smiled slyly, blew on the barrel of the gun and let it rest at his side.  
  
  
  
"You should always keep both eyes open when shooting a gun." He heard a British voice say from behind him.  
  
  
  
He felt himself squeeze the trigger in surprise which let a shot ring out into the floor, inches from his right pinky toe. Uh oh. Major, uh oh. He wasn't even supposed to be in that house, let alone playing with any type of weapon.  
  
  
  
"You'll see twice as well, I mean." A burly man said when there was no other response.  
  
  
  
He didn't hear the rest of the man's statement, for he was looking for a quick, clean exit, eventually coming to realize that the man was blocking the only opening in the room.  
  
  
  
The stranger standing before him cocked an eyebrow and rubbed his short, gray, handle-bar mustache, still expecting and answer.  
  
  
  
"Well, are you going to say something or aren't you." The man tried again, leaning against the doorway.  
  
  
  
Looking down, he opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly darted to the doorway and tried to run past the inquisitive man who in turn grabbed him by the waist and held him with both arms.  
  
  
  
He kicked the air and tried to flail his arms to hit the man with the gun he still held, but the medium built man was stronger than he looked.  
  
  
  
"Let me go, old man!" He shouted, still kicking, but gradually growing tired.  
  
  
  
"Old man? Don't you know the proper way to talk to your elders, boy?" The man smiled, "Now let me have a look at you."  
  
  
  
He set the boy down in the green plush chair quaintly placed in the corner by the collection of revolvers and rifles displayed on the wall. With his blue eyes, light hair, and devil-may-care attitude, it was more than easy to tell that this child wasn't like any of the Arab children that he'd seen roaming the streets.  
  
  
  
"Okay, let me guess. Your a ten year old American boy who has lived in the Cairo orphanage, located four miles away, and has just recently escaped in hopes of finding his real parents, and most likely goes by his last name or any other alias."  
  
  
  
"Good guess, but I'm eight, going on nine, years old. I have no idea or care for who my parents were, and only escaped from the orphange to get away from the damned place." The boy's upperlip curled into a signature sly smile.  
  
  
  
"Just as well.... So what do you go by?" The man quiried.  
  
  
  
"Hey, I don't have to answer to nobody!"  
  
Chuckling, the man removed his hat, revealing a semi-bald head, "Well, I'm not 'nobody' now am I."  
  
This was replied to with a roll of the eyes and a 'pshh'.  
  
"Winston Havelock , at your service." He extended his hand in greeting.  
  
The boy was reluctant, but took the Brit's hand and shook it heartily.  
  
  
  
"The name's O'Connell. Rick O'Connell."  
  
  
  
"Ha ha! O'Connell then! Well, come on, we've got all day to get you cleaned up and taken care of."  
  
  
  
Rick looked dumbfounded, "What? Uh, I mean... Who's says that I'm stayin'!" He had retreated back to his rude nature in hopes to cover up his surprised reaction.  
  
  
  
Winston just laughed, "Well, I do. I mean, you've traveled at least a day and a half, on foot no doubtedly. Why, I wouldn't be more than surprised if you were hungry enough to eat a camel!"  
  
  
  
Rick cringed, thinking of the filthy beasts. It was hard enough to smell them let alone have to eat them. Not that he ever would, of course. 


	2. Chapter 2

You know the drill. I own nothing from The Mummy.... and such.  
  
  
  
  
  
*Thank you so much for the reviews. I feel loved now! I'm trying my best to update, but I've just been so busy. Well, enough of my rambling..... on to the story.*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Rick ran his hands back and forth through his newly combed hair, mussing it to his preference, as Winston returned with a few pieces of bread and a cup of milk.  
  
  
  
"Not much food to go around this week. We'll just have to settle with bread and goat's milk." Winston said in the jolliest tone he could manage.  
  
  
  
Jolly or not, Rick immediately spit out what little of the milk he had drank onto the table and proceeded to wipe his tongue on the sleeve of his new shirt.  
  
  
  
"It looks as though goat's milk isn't your style, young O'Connell," The elder smiled, "Perhaps this will suit your taste." Winston pushed a small glass of dark golden liquid in his direction.  
  
Smelling it first, Rick cringed, but then downed the glass without thinking twice.... and experienced a taste far worse than that of goat's milk. His eyes began to water and he coughed dryly, feeling as if his stomach were on fire. He'd been poisoned!  
  
  
  
But the reality of him being poisoned by the older man who sat next to him, laughing as though a camel had spit on his grandmother, quickly diminished as Winston explained himself.  
  
"And of course you aren't ready for that, young one!"  
  
  
  
'Apparently not.' Rick thought, but not as cheerfully. He'd have to watch what he'd been given from now on.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Living with Winston hadn't seemed as bad as the previous week's experience had foreshadowed. The food wasn't too horrible, and while there wasn't very much to do, he always found that Winston could keep him busy by regailing him with some of his old war stories.  
  
  
  
"And so I said to them," Winston continued, "Men! Do you want to die running, or do you want to die trying?" He waved a stick in the air to signify leadership.  
  
  
  
"Then what happened?" Rick's eyes were bright, intent on memorizing every portion of the old man's story.  
  
"Well we..... we..... Well, they turned around and ended up running. Apparently, they weren't ready to follow a man with bravery such as mine. And of course, the fact that I didn't have shoes or a gun had done little to persuade them."  
  
  
  
Rick's eyes were glowing, wishing that he could have been part of the action.  
  
"This, of course, was all before I took up air combat." A comment like this usually sent Winston reeling into another story. He opened his mouth to start, but quickly noticed that his audience was slowly wilting into himself as he yawned widely. "But that can wait until tomorrow." He smiled as he picked up the young boy and carried him to his bed, hesitating when he spotted something smeared on his wrist.  
  
  
  
As he got a closer look, he noticed that it wasn't a smear, but a perfectly sketched tattoo: a mariner's compass pointing down, with falcon's wings pointing up, forming a pyramid. And in the center was the eye of Horus.  
  
He didn't know why he was surprised, but as he closed the door and walked to the desk in the study, Winston lit a lantern and, grabbing a sheet of paper, began to write a letter. 


	3. Chapter 3

I own nothing that has to do with the Mummy. There may be a few original characters that I own later.  
  
  
  
*Hey everyone! Sorry for the lack of updates. I haven't had very much time recently. But don't worry, the Color Guard season is almost over, and I should be back on track soon.*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"He's one of the best sharp-shooting men on this side of the sands." Winston began as both he and Rick approached what looked to be a stone house that was missing a few bricks in the sidings. "And he's the only person I can leave you with while I'm away."  
  
  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow, thinking of worse times when he had been on his own, scavaging the filthy streets of Cairo. Being left alone with someone he didn't know was another issue.  
  
  
  
A few chickens that had been pecking around the edge of the house fled at the sound of their footsteps and retreated into their "coop" which actually consisted of a bent sheet of tin held up by a log that it had curiously been bolted to. A gray and brown speckled dog that was tethered to a post near the house barked while two camels bent over a wooden-post fence to drink from a water trough.  
  
  
  
"You know, the thought of just meeting this guy is enough for me, so I think that it would be in your best interest to just take me with you to London." Rick tried. He was dying for adventure, and he knew that he'd never get it here.  
  
"Ha! My best interest! Nice try, though." Winston laughed.  
  
  
  
Rick frowned, cursing under his breath but straightening up as he heard a screendoor slam.  
  
  
  
Out stepped a tall, slender man with dark brown hair and the most peculiar colored eyes that he had never seen on a man; green. His tan skin only inhanced the icy-looking color. He smiled with a mild mannered charm, revealing straight and white teeth.  
  
  
  
Rick was in awe. Never in his life had he seen a man as different or mysterious looking. Every person he had ever known had dark brown eyes, black hair, dark skin, and yellow, crooked teeth (aside from Winston and himself). He could tell that the man he was looking at was an American, like himself.  
  
  
  
"Hey there, Winston. This the boy?" He drawled.  
  
  
  
"Who else would I be? Queen Victoria?" Rick shot.  
  
  
  
The man smirked, scratched his arm, and tilted his head down.  
  
  
  
"Son, even Queen Victoria was more of a man than you."  
  
  
  
Sensing the tension, Winston stepped in, carrying the conversation back to introductions.  
  
  
  
"Jack Lachlan, meet Rick O'Connell ."  
  
  
  
Jack smiled heartily making his eyes seem more tiny and spiteful, while his eyebrows arched making it apparent that he was forcing his attitude.  
  
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Rick." Jack said as he held out his hand in greeting.  
  
  
  
Rick looked at the outstretched hand, making no move to take it.  
  
"Only my friends can call me Rick." he snapped. He hadn't known this chump for five minutes and already he didn't like him.  
  
  
  
Jack chuckled and bent down to his level to show him that he was inferior.  
  
  
  
"I'm sure that it wouldn't be difficult to count them all." He sneered as he looked into his eyes.  
  
Rick bit back tears and tried to harness his emotions as he stared back.  
  
  
  
"Well?" Jack asked.  
  
  
  
Before he knew it, Jack was sent reeling backwards from a hard right hook to the jaw delivered by Rick. He landed flat on his back, staring up at the sky while holding his mouth. After a moment of struggle to sit up, and a few curse words, Jack looked at him and cringed in apparent pain before breaking out in a dry laugh.  
  
  
  
"You little son of a bitch." He chuckled, "I like your spirit, kid. Your welcome to dish those hits out anytime you like."  
  
  
  
Rick didn't know whether to smile or to narrow his eyes. Despite the man's harsh words and humor, he undoubtedly knew that he would remember this guy for the rest of his life. 


	4. Chapter 4

Three hours after Winston had left, Rick found himself hauling a water pail from the well behind Jack's house. Apparently, living here meant working here too. "Can't get nowhere without a little work to build your character." He'd heard Jack say as he pushed him out the door, nearly causing him to trip over the dog deemed Bart.  
  
Rick dragged the bucket by the handle across the "yard" to the empty water trough next to the chicken coop, grunting as he lifted it to the edge to pour it in, nearly dropping it. Meanwhile, the chickens had taken to pecking the soles of his shoes, seeing if he had any food to drop.  
  
  
  
"Shoo! Go away!" Rick kicked the dirt a little and the chickens fled to their coop.  
  
  
  
As he finished emptying the bucket, he felt a warm wet nose nudge the back of his neck. Frightened, he turned quickly, loosing his balance as he did so, falling backwards into the water. When he looked up he came face to face with the ugliest thing he ever seen. His scream seemed to echo for miles..  
  
Jack ran out from the shoddy house flailing both of his guns and desperately trying to slip his other arm through the sleeve of his shirt as he hopped on one foot.  
  
"Damn it, kid, if you've gotten into trouble already.." But he never got a chance to finish his threat as laughter had overtaken him. There sat O'Connell, drenched in water, slapping away the camel who had come so eagerly to drink.  
  
  
  
  
  
The next day, Rick found himself on the roof of the shack, hammering nails to keep stray shingles in place. The midday sun beat down on his neck and back, and sweat beaded his nose and forehead all while the coarse roof scraped his kneecaps.  
  
  
  
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" He yelled down to Jack, who had come out to feed Bart.  
  
"Last time I checked." He laughed but stopped as he saw Rick's scowl and his arm lifting the hammer higher.  
  
  
  
With a roll of his eyes he proceeded to knock down the ladder which led to the roof.  
  
  
  
"Okay. Worst case scenario #1. You're running from two scumbags, each with a gun of his own. You've just discovered their plan to kill some government official and you are currently running for you life. You run until you come to a short cliff face, but there is no way to get down. What do you do?"  
  
Rick's eyes widened, his face paling from the bright red of his slow- burning flesh. Was this guy serious? He wordlessly looked over the edge of the roof, imagining his demise if he were to jump. He wished that the ground didn't suddenly look so far away.  
  
Getting on his stomach, he slowly rolled his body off the edge, bracing himself with his arms, elbows slightly bent. His knees were shaking as his feet dangled over the side. Looking down Rick saw that the nearest foothold was the top of a window pane, inches out of his reach.  
  
"Now's a good time to practice 'shimmying'." Jack yelled up to a very frustrated O'Connell.  
  
Okay, this guy is officially nuts. Shimmying?  
  
Rick did the only thing he could and painstakingly lowered himself until he was hanging on by his fingers. Now came the hard part. Swaying his legs slightly he shifted his hands, moving as quickly as he could. Just as he had gotten to the window, a piece of the ledge he'd been hanging onto cracked and split, leaving him hanging by his right hand. Resisting the urge to scream, he calmly brought his arm back up and stepped onto the top of the window. Now to find a lower handhold. 


	5. Sorry Everybody

Hey everyone, I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. My computer died on me * pouts * and I was unable to update. So, I'm not dead, just extremely unlucky with computers. I'll try to get an update soon so that no one is left hanging.  
-Reva Arian 


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